


I Just Need Someone to Love

by Meatball42



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Advice, Battle Couple, Cake, Don't think about it too hard, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Loosely attached to canon timeline, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Self-Esteem Issues, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-20 01:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19984183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: Subtitle: I Get Married With a Little Help From My Friends





	I Just Need Someone to Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impala_Chick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/gifts).



> Title is, obviously, from the Beatles.
> 
> Thank you very, very much gsparkle for doing a great job beta'ing even while laid up in bed!

Clint woke up at around 11 on a Sunday. In his defense, it was a Sunday! And he was really, really tired. Friday and Saturday had been taken up with planning for his and Natasha’s wedding. They’d decided between three different venues, picked centerpieces, talked endlessly about allergies and vegetarian options and wine pairings.

Or, Natasha had picked things, and talked about things, and decided things, while Clint had tried to look like he was following along.

Clint rolled over a few times, trying to avoid the sun glaring through the bedroom window. He heard a crinkle, and about five minutes later it occurred to his drowsy brain to check out what caused it.

A note, now creased, read:

_‘Hey lazybones._

_Got a text from Maria. Immediate call-out. Should be about a week._

_The caterer is going to call on Tuesday. I know you don’t want to be involved in the planning, but if we don’t hash out the menu now, we’ll lose the deposit. Pick anything that’s not shellfish._

_Cake testing with Jose is on Thurs! I_ _do not want_ _lemon flavored cake. Other than that, ~~do whatever~~ and do not get a purple cake, Clinton Francis Barton, I swear, but other than that get whatever you want. _

_Cindy the florist is supposed to call on Friday, see if you can push the meeting with her to next week.’_

The note was signed with an hourglass and a little heart.

Clint read it twice. Then he rolled away from it and shoved his head under a pillow.

Sunday could wait a few more hours. 

\ \ \ | / / /

It wasn’t that Clint didn’t want to do any work for his wedding, he repeated to himself as the caterer droned on and on. He wasn’t trying to be the asshole who made his fiancée do all the work. But picking out plate sets and invitation fonts and venues that cost several thousand dollars an hour? He just wasn’t made for all that.

Clint grew up in Iowa, far enough out in the country that weddings took place in the local chapel and the reception was in someone’s barn. The only city weddings he’d ever been to were undercover ops, and one time a SHIELD agent had gotten married and half the guests had to give cover stories to the other half.

Clint wasn’t worried about screwing up the wedding so bad that Natasha wouldn’t want to marry him. If there was one thing in the world he felt secure in, it was his relationship with Natasha, but he didn’t want his lack of sophistication to sour what should have been one of the happiest days of their lives. That was why he’d left all the decisions to Natasha, with her impeccable taste.

When the caterer finally came to an end and wanted him to make decisions about the food, Clint pulled out his trusty flipping quarter and hoped for the best.

\ \ \ | / / /

Clint glanced around the huge room, but none of the other Avengers were in sight in Stark’s big communal team floor. Still, this wasn’t a great place to take this call. The walls had ears, after all.

“Uh, yeah, is there any chance we could meet next week?” he said in a hushed voice, cupping his cell phone. “Some things have come up with work.”

“Of course, Mr. Barton. Would next Wednesday at the same time be acceptable?’

“Yeah, sure.”

“Good, I’m putting you and Ms. Romanova down for noon on the 16th. Have a good afternoon.”

“You too.”

Clint put his phone down on the coffee table and rubbed his face, lamenting his weakness.

After how terrible the call with the caterer had been, he couldn’t stand the idea of an in-person meeting with another snooty New Yorker who looked down their nose when he said he liked rosemary chicken. He knew that it wasn’t fair to Natasha to push the cake meeting back until she would be there to handle it. He was a bad boyfriend, and he’d make a terrible husband.

Someone clearing their throat interrupted his pity party.

“You look like you could use a listening ear.”

Clint blinked up at Sam Wilson, the new guy. Steve had brought him in after SHIELD went down to search for the Winter Soldier, so Clint hadn’t gotten to spend much time with him. Nat vouched for him, though, so he couldn’t be too bad.

And indeed, he sat on the couch and looked at Clint like he was ready to sit there for as long as Clint needed.

“This a personal thing, or an Avengers thing?”

“Personal,” Clint sighed. “And, I appreciate it, but I really can’t talk about it.”

They’d never kept their relationship secret from the team. They didn’t flaunt it intentionally, but Clint and Natasha were close, and it didn’t take a spy to see it. But their engagement, the wedding? Natasha was insistent that they not let anyone know too far in advance. Loose lips sink ships, after all. The one wedding of a SHIELD agent Clint had gone to, there’d been a bomb threat. They both knew much worse could come for an Avenger’s wedding.

The invitations for their friends and teammates were signed and stamped, waiting to go out three weeks before the ceremony. It would be small and private, but hopefully amazing.

So as much as Clint might have wanted to spill his guts to a friendly mostly-stranger… he couldn’t.

Sam raised his eyebrows, inspecting Clint with a gaze that seemed to read him as well as Natasha’s ever had. “Okay. But you take care of yourself, alright man? You’re not alone.”

“Wow, you’re better at the team stuff than the rest of us after only a few months,” Clint joked.

“What can I say, they saved the best for last. You want to play a few rounds?” Sam nodded at the XBox set-up mostly tucked up under the TV.

“God yes.”

\ \ \ | / / /

Clint couldn’t wait to be married.

Both in the sense that he wanted to marry Natasha more than he’d ever wanted anything, and in the sense that he wanted the whole ordeal to be over. 

Clint fidgeted on a chintzy little white chair and straightened the cuffs on his button-up shirt for the fifth time.

Natasha was incredible, and he couldn’t believe she wanted to marry _him._ The night she’d lovingly bonked him on the head with a folded newspaper and asked him if he was ever going to get her a ring was one of the best nights of his life.

Even if she had been the one to go out and get rings for them.

And that was the thing. Clint had no idea what wedding rings should look like. Obviously, he’d _seen_ them before, but… picking out the perfect one for someone you loved? What the hell was supposed to go into a decision like that?

Clint had never spent a lot of time with anyone who had what might be called a “successful” marriage: one that didn’t end in people staying together ‘for the kids’ despite hating each other, or divorce, or attempted murder. He was counting on Natasha’s expertise at all things people to get them through. He would do anything to make her happy, and he could only hope that was enough.

But eternal devotion wouldn’t help him pick a wedding cake.

“Mr. Barton?”

“Yep,” he said. He struggled out of the tiny white chair and followed the cake-maker’s assistant—Jesus, she looked fancier than Stark’s corporate PAs—into an office that reeked of luxury and style.

Jose Zendejas stood up to greet Clint as he came in. He was a tall man, and he looked like Clint imagined a pastry chef would look. He had the white coat with the buttons, straining a bit from eating his own food. He took Clint’s hand in both of his big palms.

“Mr. Barton, it’s good to meet you!” 

“Good to meet you too…”

“Call me Chef Jose.” 

They sat down and Chef Jose opened up the ‘Barton-Romanova Wedding’ file on his computer. He talked about what Natasha had told him about their wedding and the ideas he had for their cake, and he sounded like he knew his stuff.

Clint was the one who didn’t have any idea what was going on. It all just sounded complicated and expensive. The more Chef Jose talked about matching their color scheme, and personal influences on the design, the more out of place Clint felt.

This was the cake designer Natasha had chosen to make their wedding cake. Clint had no idea why. The front of the store, where cakes and pastries were on display, was bright and clean and smelled nice, so he figured the guy was a good bet, but beyond that? _Nada._ He felt like a mangy dog dragged into an expensive restaurant. Soon, somebody was going to figure out what was stinking up the place and kick him out.

“What thoughts do you have, Mr. Barton?” Chef Jose asked, startling Clint out of his downward spiral into panic and inadequacy.

“Uh… no lemon?” he asked hesitantly.

“Absolutely,” Chef Jose replied, typing in a note. He looked at Clint expectantly.

“Um… I like purple, but Nat said no.”

The chef grinned. “And we know that the lady’s word is the law!” He clapped Clint on the shoulder and laughed. “What kind of flavors do you like in your cakes, Mr. Barton? Are you a chocolate man? Maybe you like fruit, or mocha flavors?”

Clint tried to remember if he’d ever had any cakes before that weren’t chocolate, vanilla, or bright pink strawberry from a box.

“Do you like trying new things?” Chef Jose asked when Clint was still hesitating.

“I’ll try anything once,” he said honestly.

Chef Jose laughed loudly. It was a nice laugh, not teasing. It made Clint smile and relax a bit.

“Alright. We will have you try a variety of flavors. I hope you didn’t eat a big lunch!”

The fancy assistant came back and led Clint to a weirdly small table that was in the main store, but separated from the general public by a counter. She and a woman in a blue chef coat started bringing out little plate with different bites of cake on them and asking Clint what he felt about each.

It was comforting to be taste a bunch of things and just say yes or no, and they tasted good! If there was one thing Clint was comfortable with, it was eating. He must have tried twenty different little cake bites before the assistant sat down with him (their knees brushing under the seriously tiny table) and read off her clipboard.

“You seem to have a preference for richer flavors with contrasting accents,” she told him. Clint belatedly realised she was wearing a nametag—he wasn’t one of those creeps who stared at women’s chests!—and that her name was Victorija. “Since your wedding is in the fall, it might be best to pick a flavor that isn’t too heavy, but perhaps fits with the season.”

She looked up at Clint expectantly. He stared back at her with his jaw slightly open.

Victorija smiled at him, suddenly looking like a real person rather than an intimidating professional fancy person. Even her nails suddenly looked nicer. “Would you like a few suggestions?”

“Oh please, God yes.”

She laughed. “Okay. I’m thinking a dark chocolate cake with espresso filling and chocolate ganache, or an almond cake with salted caramel and caramel buttercream, or a chocolate cake with dark chocolate liqueur buttercream and raspberry preserves.”

Clint felt his eyes getting wider as she went on. “Do you have, like… pictures?”

He felt stupid for asking, but Victorija got up and pulled a binder off a nearby table. “Of course! Here.” She opened the binder and quickly found the three cakes she had mentioned, bookmarking them for him. “Would you like a minute to look through?”

“Yes please,” he said, relieved.

When he was alone, he read over the descriptions of each cake and studied the pictures. They didn’t really have ‘colors’ and a ‘theme,’ so he could just pick whatever fit those best. He didn’t have any particular attachment to the flavors aside from liking chocolate, and he had no idea what Natasha would like best. Like him, she had a high metabolism and could eat her weight in whatever was put in front of her.

There were upsides and downsides to each cake, when you got down to it. Was a chocolate and coffee cake too cliche? Was salted caramel too random, not classic enough? Was chocolate and raspberry too childish? Could you be allergic to raspberries?

When Clint found himself Googling how much caffeine was in a chocolate cake, he realized his breath was coming short and went outside for some air.

Leaning against the wall outside, Clint closed his eyes, reflecting on how useless it was to pretend like he belonged in there, choosing between fancy cake flavors. What would Natasha say, if she saw him now? Of course, she would understand him, because she always did. But wouldn’t she be disappointed that he couldn’t even fake it for an hour?

As Avengers, they had to go to a lot of fancy events. Clint always felt like his tie was strangling him, no matter how many of the things they went to. Everyone always seemed so comfortable in those places, like they were born and bred to it, like they belonged. Clint knew he didn’t belong, and he felt like everyone else could see it, too. The only other person who ever showed discomfort was—

Steve!

Clint snatched his phone out of his pocket and hit speed-dial number three with relief coursing through his veins. Steve was respectable guy! And he made bread and cookies and stuff all the time! He would know what Natasha would like!

The call connected just as Clint remembered that he couldn’t actually _tell_ Steve that he was trying to pick a wedding cake for Natasha.

“Hey Clint, how are you?”

“I’m good! Well, kind of. I need some advice,” he rambled, trying to come up with a plan on the fly.

“Fire away.”

“You like to cook things, right? What’s best for a cake flavor, uh, chocolate and espresso, salted caramel, or chocolate and raspberry?”

There was a pause. “What is this for?” Steve asked.

“Nothing. I mean, something, obviously, but nothing special. I mean, just a general question.”

“Are you baking this yourself?”

“No.”

“Well,” Steve considered, “I guess I’d say, go with your instincts.”

Clint blinked. “My instincts. The instincts, that I have. For this. Okay.”

“Clint,” Steve said, sounding blessedly certain. That was why Clint like having him as team leader. “I’m sure that whoever you’re getting this cake for will love it because you picked it for them.”

“Okay. Yeah. It’s not that important, right? Not like,” he gulped, “a huge, life-changing event or anything.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you,” Steve told him. He sounded so confident and reassuring on the phone. Clint felt his heart rate slow down.

“Thanks man. I will.”

He took a few last lungfuls of… well, not clean air, it was New York, but outdoors air, before going back inside.

A few steps in, Victorija appeared out of nowhere. “I thought we’d lost you!”

“What?”

“Sometimes the groom will do a runner. It’s not unusual to see nerves,” she said kindly.

That made him feel better. He wasn’t uniquely unsuited to marrying someone as poised and classy as Natasha. This was a normal problem. 

“Have you made a decision?” Victorija asked.

Clint squared his shoulders. “I’m gonna go with… the raspberry one?”

“An excellent choice,” Victorija assured him. “I will let the chef know, and we will email you with some preliminary designs next week. Would you like a glass of water?”

Clint let out a deep breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been keeping in. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Planning your wedding can be a stressful experience,” Victorija said, leading him back to the tiny table and pouring him water from a glass pitcher. “Getting married is the biggest choice you may ever make. We pour our hearts into these events as fully as we have shared them with our partners. I love helping people have a wedding they can remember for the rest of their lives. But at the end of the day, it is just a party. The dress, the decorations, battling with the in-laws, even the cake! They are not what matter most. Because at the end of the day, you’ll be married to the woman of your dreams, and that’s all that matters.”

Clint accepted the glass of water and took a sip. Listening to Victorija, he felt all the anxiety of the last week slipping away. He imagined being up there in front of the justice of the peace with Natasha, married and joyful, the way he had before all the wedding planning got in the way. The dreamlike image filled him with peace and certainty.

“How did you do that?” he asked Victorija. “How did you know just what to say?”

“It’s my job,” she said glibly. “And… I am married, Mr. Barton. I know what I’m talking about because I’ve been where you are. And it was all worth it.”

She smiled at him sincerely, and he nodded.

“You know what? You’re right. I’ve got this. I’ve got all of this.”

\ \ \ | / / /

And got it he had.

Natasha’s mission was extended for another week, but Clint wasn’t afraid anymore. He took the meeting with the florist and chose the flowers that he thought would look best with Natasha’s hair. The venue asked if he had thoughts on the seating arrangements and he made a decision without agonizing over it. And when the caterer called to bitch about Clint’s choices, he told the guy to shut up or he’d hire someone else.

And then the guy told him to fuck off and that he wasn’t going to cater for them. So Clint went on Yelp and chose a new caterer and called them and set up a meeting with them.

He felt more like a superhero, calling these fancy people and selecting things, than he did when he was Avenging.

Clint couldn’t wait for Nat to get back from her mission, partially because he missed her, of course, but also because he couldn’t wait to tell her all the things he’d done for their wedding. He’d been excited about it before they’d started planning the wedding, but ever since then, his enthusiasm had been stifled. It was a big part of why he hadn’t cared that none of their teammates could know about the wedding yet. But now that he felt he had some control over it himself—now that it was fun!—he couldn’t wait to show Thor the venue, ask Steve to help him pick a photographer, and get Maria onboard for the prank he was planning against their former caterer.

And then, he got a text from Maria.

_‘Suit up.’_

\ \ \ | / / /

Natasha’s mission had gone downhill in a bad way, and she needed her partner to help her salvage what she could. Maria briefed Clint on the plane, then turned him loose on a foreign city with only a brief code to help him find Natasha.

It took him days to track her down, and once they were together, Natasha insisted on completing her mission even though the bad guys knew her face. It took two weeks to finish the job, laying as low as possible, and then another week before they could get out of the city, traveling through the back country until they crossed a border to relative safety.

When they made it to an airport, they were met by a perky woman who led them to Tony Stark’s personal jet, already fueled and ready to insist on jumping the line.

Exhausted and each with their own minor-to-moderate injuries, Natasha and Clint passed out for the whole flight home.

\ \ \ | / / /

They made it back to New York late at night. Stark Tower had a few restaurants that were still open, so they took advantage of the free delivery for residents to order while taking much needed showers. After eating their fill, they went to bed, setting their alarms to avoid the worst of the jet lag.

The next morning, they visited the Avengers medical suite up near the top of the tower. Clint had a strained muscle and a variety of bruises. Natasha had a torn ligament and a deep ache in her hip and shoulder from a bad fall.

While her x-rays were processing, they sat together in the waiting room on an extremely comfortable fluffy couch that clashed terribly with the decor. Steve and Sam had met them when they arrived that morning and had waited for them to get checked out. Tony, Pepper, and Bruce arrived with breakfast pastries from a nearby bakery. Maria showed up at the same time to surreptitiously take photos while Clint tried to hide from her and Natasha ignored everything but her pain au chocolat.

Soaking up the presence of their friends, the teasing and chatter and dumb jokes, Clint started to lose the tension of a long mission. He always took a while to decompress, but since joining up with the Avengers, it wasn’t so bad.

Natasha, who tended to treat life as one long mission, and was therefore no more or less comfortable anywhere, leaned into him as she felt him settle. Clint rested his head on her shoulder and breathed in the familiar scent of her.

“We missed a bunch of deposit windows,” he said, quietly enough for just them (and probably Steve, but he was polite about those things).

Natasha shrugged gently. “It was never about the flowers. A simpler wedding isn’t a big deal.”

“I just wanted to give you the wedding you deserve,” Clint confessed. “And… I actually got kinda into it. I had to make a whole new catering plan, you know. I was proud of that!”

She petted his hair, clearly amused. “So we won’t have hors d'oeuvres. We’ll survive.”

“Oh, you, uh… you wanted hors d’oeuvres?”

“I wanted to marry you, dummy,” Natasha laughed.

That caught the attention of the others.

“Wanted?” Sam asked. “Past tense? Is the wedding off?”

“Now’s your chance!” Tony joked, nudging Bruce with his elbow. Bruce looked uncomfortable and shifted away.

“If the wedding has to be rescheduled, let me know,” Pepper said seriously, pulling her tablet out of its case. “I blocked off the day, but if I have to move things around I’d like as much notice as possible.”

“You knew?” Clint asked the room at large.

“Barton, how many of us have been involved in espionage?” Maria said with good humor.

“Uhhhh, four?” Clint guessed, eyeing the room’s occupants. He stopped uncertainly on Sam, who raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Okay, he could see how Sam and Natasha were friends.

“More than enough to figure out a secret that you weren’t keeping too close to your chest,” Steve teased. “You called me to ask about wedding cakes.”

“I didn’t say it was wedding cakes!” Clint defended. “That could have been cake for anything!”

His stellar defense was met with only snorts and jeers.

“We understand that you had your reasons for keeping it quiet,” Pepper assured Clint and Natasha, “but now that we know, can you sign off on these arrangements? Assuming that you’d like to keep the same date.”

She passed Natasha her tablet and Clint peered at it over Natasha’s shoulder. He saw a list of invoices, each of which dropped down to reveal a detailed manifest.

The list had everything. The final signatures for the florist, the deposit and order from the new caterer, the final confirmation with the venue. Invitations had been sent on the date they were meant to go out. Travel arrangements for their few guests who had RSVP’d from afar, and hosting offers at Stark Tower. A bulk purchase of Natasha’s favorite wine, which was expensive enough that they hadn’t planned to have any at the wedding, and Clint’s favorite soda, which had been discontinued ten years prior.

“Who did this?” Natasha asked, mostly to Pepper.

“It was a team effort,” Tony interrupted as Pepper went to speak. “You guys work hard, though you could use a few upgrades.”

“And a few quick fixes,” Maria agreed. “For the record, no one wants crab cakes at a wedding.”

“I love crab cakes,” Clint said weakly.

“But actually,” Sam continued, “most everything was done by the time we decided to step in. All that was left was making the calls and paying the last deposits.”

Bruce nodded. “Clint knows what he’s doing,” he said, and only sounded a little bit like it came as a surprise.

Natasha twisted carefully so she could look at Clint over her shoulder. “I knew that,” she murmured, giving him the little smirk that was her most honest smile.

Characteristically, Tony cleared his throat. Sentimental moments never lasted long with the Avengers around.

“I imagine your 401ks went down with SHIELD, so no worries! Everything is paid for, on us.” He indicated himself and Pepper.

“Does that make you two the parents of the bride?” Maria asked, grinning, because she was cruel.

Tony got a delighted and evil look on his face before Pepper put a soothing hand on his wrist. “Historically, Tony’s presents don’t go over well. Call this preemptive damage control.”

“We really can’t accept that—”

“Yes please, super rich friends, pay for our super expensive party,” Clint said over Natasha, ignoring her dirty look. “Do you want him to pay for it, or do you want red and purple fireworks at the ceremony?” he asked her.

Everyone laughed, except for Tony, who got a dangerous gleam in his eye.

\ \ \ | / / /

When Clint and Natasha got married, everything was perfect. The food was excellent, the venue was beautifully appointed, the cake was delicious and decorated in a very tasteful lilac. All of their friends were there to celebrate with them.

(The purple and red fireworks didn’t appear until the end of the reception, when everyone was happily buzzed off good wine.)

But what really mattered was that, at the end of the day, Clint and Natasha each married the person of their dreams.

And it was all worth it.


End file.
